


Your Right Hand

by IncandescentAntelope



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Emperor!Yuuri, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Internalized Self-Loathing, M/M, Master/Slave, Royalty AU, Sex Trafficking, Sexual Slavery, Slavery, Smut, background phichit/chris because i can, based on another work, non-explicit and basically non-existent mentions of underage, sex slave!Viktor, social justice causes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-30
Updated: 2020-08-30
Packaged: 2021-03-07 01:13:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,515
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26128597
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IncandescentAntelope/pseuds/IncandescentAntelope
Summary: Viktor was the crown jewel of the Ice Castle brothel until he was chosen by the Prince to be his personal pleasure slave.
Relationships: Katsuki Yuuri/Victor Nikiforov
Comments: 11
Kudos: 223





	Your Right Hand

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is about Viktor as a pleasure slave, the topics of slavery and human trafficking and contains mentions of Viktor being trafficked into sex slavery at age 16. Viktor is 25 during the events of the fic. The fic does not explicitly detail any underage events or slavery-related violence. There is a happy ending for this fic, and if you would like to read spoilers, they are listed in the end notes. This fic is based on an original work here on Ao3, [The Golden Bird](https://archiveofourown.org/series/1495721), and deripmaver’s au of it, [The Ice Prince](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25670140/chapters/62321419). You do not need to read either of them to fully understand the fic, but I highly recommend both of them!
> 
> DL;DR

Viktor would never forget the lessons taught to him by the Master Trainer. _Sit up straight, shoulders back, chin up, eyes down. Don’t speak unless spoken to._ Every infraction cost a snap of a riding crop at least and loss of the day’s food at the worst. Sometimes it was a whipping.

It all seemed like a distant nightmare, those long, dark days at the training house without food, without a scrap of clothing to keep himself warm… especially compared to the days Viktor was currently living. Gentle hands touched him now, careful, tentative fingers worked through his long, silver hair, smoothed balms and oils into his skin. People spoke to him in hushed tones, and he was cared for well, he had been since he was Selected. 

The memory of that night, his Selection, had him shivering down to his bones, even submerged in the warmest, most luxurious bath he had ever had. The Emperor’s eyes were deep and hypnotizing, captivating as glittering jasper in the sun. He was beautiful, and Viktor would never be able to forget their first meeting, and their only meeting until what would be happening later that night. Viktor had felt a decade older when the Selection happened, everything that had been happening in the house was immediately put to halt. They were barely given enough time to prepare or assemble themselves. 

The then Prince had just turned twenty-one, and the capital city was alive with celebration of it. A weeklong festival was thrown in honor of his coming-of-age, and every brothel in the city was preparing for the Selection. Every whorehouse was decorated as if it were Bacchanal; banners with the royal colors waved in the air, and every pleasure slave worth half a Crown spent every moment they could preparing for the chance to be chosen, and Viktor was no different. 

The Prince and his entourage had embarked on their tour nearly a week ago, visiting every brothel in the city with any reputation or acclaim. As part of his coming-of-age, the Prince would select the pleasure slave he would be given as a gift; it was a time-honored tradition, and Viktor thanked Ganymene that he was still young enough to even be considered. At twenty-four, he was dangerously close to losing his status as the most desirable, the first whore in the house.

Yuri was the one to inform him of the Prince’s arrival in the evening, his green eyes wild and his cheek pink as if Yakov had recently slapped him. It wasn’t impossible, Yuri loitered and back-talked far more often than he should, given his status as a debtor’s slave. Viktor was the crown jewel of the brothel, an hour of his own time cost more gold than Viktor would ever possess in his life. 

“He’s here.” Yuri’s voice shook Viktor from the trance he fell into between servicing customers. 

“The… _the Prince?_ ” Viktor asked, feeling sluggish and heavy after what the last session had done to him. He could still feel the burn of Councilor Bors’ eyes on him, that awful pock-marked visage lavishing in the sight of his slave’s thick cock dragging in and out of him. 

“Yes, old man, get _up_!” Yuri screeched, and it all snapped into too-sharp focus. Viktor all but threw himself out of bed, knowing there would be worse consequences for him than a slap across the face if he failed to look his complete best when the Prince arrived. 

“Yuri, help me with my hair?” Viktor asked, knowing his face to look a complete mess after another Lord had used his throat mercilessly just minutes ago. He hurriedly washed his face and scrubbed it clean of what had dried on his cheeks and lips as Yuri pulled a comb through his hair. 

“Do you think he’ll pick one of us?” Yuri asked in a hushed tone as Viktor painted his lips and wrapped his favorite pieces of jewelry around his throat and slipped a pair of hoops into his ears. 

“I hope so.” Viktor said in a rush of breath, imagining what kind of life might be his should he be chosen. Maybe Viktor’s purchase would be enough to release Yuri from his debt. Maybe he could be free. Perhaps he could go home to his grandfather. Viktor’s hand hovered over the small carving he had made in the wall beside his vanity, a crude rendering of Ganymene resting in the god Melchior’s arms, after his heroic rescue from the clutches of the monstrous Satyr.

 _“Please, let him choose me.”_ he prayed in the quiet of his mind, as Yuri finished braiding his hair. “ _Please, let him be my Melchior.”_ He dressed himself in his thin, gauzy shift and completed the plait with the carved pin he had been given as a gift: a golden sparrow in flight.

The main hall was eerily quiet with all of the customers forced to evacuate. It was a Sunday evening, one of the brothel’s busiest nights, and yet, Viktor could have heard a hairpin drop. He descended the stairs and saw him, reclining on a plush sofa in the middle of the room, examining a row of pleasure slaves. 

The Prince was beautiful, and Viktor could barely breathe at the sight of him. He was wearing deep blue robes, soft and flowing around him. Viktor immediately dropped his eye when the thought crossed his mind, however. He was a slave, and a pleasure slave at that. He could not have such thoughts. The Prince was accompanied by his closest advisors, a few of whom he recognized as patrons he had serviced before; Lord Carlyle and his lopsided smile still made him shudder. The group was surrounded by dispatch of guards who Viktor could clearly see were grateful for their posts, being allowed to ogle barely dressed men and women at every stop on the Selection tour. 

Viktor waited as he heard the soft voice of the Prince politely dismissing one after another. His voice was sweet and light, like the champagne the Lords occasionally shared with him. There was a soft sigh that followed every dismissal, and Viktor knew the evening would be a somber one after the Prince departed. He could already hear someone crying distantly. 

When it came time for Viktor to face the gathered party, he stood perfectly still, his hands laced firmly together behind him. He did not meet the Prince’s eye, nor did he say a single word beyond a soft “Your Majesty,” when he bowed. 

He didn’t dare hope, and he forced himself to expect another soft dismissal, but when he heard a quiet voice ask: “What’s your name?” 

Viktor’s heart lurched into his throat. “Your slave’s name is whatever you wish it to be, Your Majesty.” Viktor said as he practiced, his head still bowed. There was a gentle hum, and Viktor swore it might have been a disapproval.

“I’ve made my choice.”

Viktor would never forget the shock of it. Even now, nearly a year later, on the day that he would spend his first night with the Prince, who was, if Viktor was correct in his assumption, presently being crowned Emperor. He was honestly astounded that he did not take him then, in the brothel, under the watch of his guards and the gathered assemblage.

He was informed on the short journey to the palace that the Prince would be bucking one tradition, however. It had been the Prince’s request that he only be with him after his coronation. Viktor was horrified at the thought at first. What would he do, if not be used by his new master? Would he be loaned out to dignitaries or Lords? He didn’t know how to do anything else, surely the royal household had enough mouths to feed without a pleasure slave who wasn’t being used. It was all he knew, servicing Lords. It was all he had known since he was taken from his homeland, he had done little else since being swept up in a job offer that had been too good to be true. But how could he have known at sixteen, what would happen after he left?

It took months to adjust to his new life within the palace walls; he was clothed, allowed regular baths, fed better than he had eaten in nearly ten years. He was even allowed what most might consider the smallest kind of freedom: he was allowed access to a small library of books. He quickly exhausted every volume in the admittedly small collection, but _Lady_ , how good it felt to hold a book in his hands again.

He thought often of Yuri, prayed to Ganymene that he would be protected from his own stubbornness. As soon as he could manage it, he would plead Yuri’s case. 

It had felt odd, to be relieved of his slave’s collar, the weight disappearing from his neck had him feeling especially light. He fully expected to be given another, but instead, a thin gold band marking him as the Prince’s Chosen was slipped around his right bicep, studded with dark blue gems that Viktor couldn’t stop admiring. Such an expensive piece… it felt heavy, but unlike his collar, did nothing to hinder his breath. 

He stayed in the royal harem in the intervening year, making fast friends with the other pleasure slaves that belonged to the royal family. Christophe was like Viktor, one of those unlucky enough to have been trafficked into the country by black market slavers, and he and Viktor were nearly inseparable within the first few days of Viktor’s arrival. It was through Christophe that he learned many of the quiet goings-on of the royal family and those associated… as well as being told thrilling tales of watching the Prince spar with his martial arts and swordsmanship teachers. 

“You should see what the man can do with a saber, darling, it’s riveting.” Christophe had drawled one day in the baths, running an oil treatment through his curly blonde locks. “It’s a shame I haven’t been able to see what kind of skills he possesses in the small hours, but he seems a bit busy to spend time with the finer among us.” 

Viktor choked on nothing. “What? He hasn’t… with you?”

Christophe laughed heartily. “Oh, _mon ami_ , I’ve been here five years, the Prince has never once summoned one of us. I’m rather taken with his chief adviser, Councilor Chulanont, to be quite honest.”

“Oh, so… has he… _ever?_ ” Viktor asked in a whisper, flushed to the tips of his ears.

Christophe’s smile curled languidly at the corners. “Now now, we shouldn’t dabble in secrets here.” he teased, leaning his head back against the edge of the large bath, and Viktor did the same. “We can discuss matters such as those later.” he added under his breath, holding a single finger to his lips. 

Viktor’s curiosity was hardly sated, but he held his tongue until that evening, after another boring day of braiding hair, of lounging around, of doing very little. Christophe had disappeared after supper, only returning after the sun had well and thoroughly set. Viktor was half-asleep when he returned, the door of their small, shared room letting a sliver of light in.

“So… Christophe?” Viktor ventured after the lights in the halls had been turned down, and most, if not all of the harem’s inhabitants had either found bedmates for the night or fallen asleep. “You said… earlier?” Christophe’s smile lit up in the dark and he slipped into Viktor’s bed. 

“I’ve heard he hasn’t given in to the lusts of the flesh. Not with a partner at least,” he said in a hushed whisper as they settled in. It was soothing, Viktor had decided early on, to share warmth with a friend at night. “And he’s set a decree that no one is to fuck you either.”

So many realizations fell into place in Viktor’s mind at that, so many questions were answered. Ever since his arrival, he had expected any one of the nobles allowed within the harem’s walls to pick him, but none did. Never once had he been summoned to warm a visiting Lord’s bed, or to please foreign dignitaries, as others were. Never once came a day that Viktor didn’t prepare himself, regardless. 

“Councilor Chulanont has a similar rule for me, though he and I both wait for the day we can arrange for my contract to be bought.” Christophe admitted, and Viktor’s heart throbbed in his chest. “He… he told me tonight he is in love with me. He wishes to marry me.”

“Oh… Christophe,” Viktor comforted him softly, hearing the edge of tears in his friend’s voice. “Do you know… how much?”

“Five thousand Crowns, Viktor.” Christophe choked, “If he can convince the Emperor to…” he trailed off, clearly biting his tongue. He did not speak another word, and Viktor simply held him as he cried, drifting off into shallow, rattling breaths as something ugly churned in Viktor’s stomach. How cruel, a system that rips families apart, separates lovers…

The sharp, angry tone of Master Trainer’s voice snapped at Viktor in his mind at the thought. _This is your place. How dare you question it?_ He could still taste the leather of the gag he was given as he was branded, could still feel the burn of the iron: the mark of the best Training House in the region was seared into his flesh.

The thought seemed nearly impossible, Viktor mused as he allowed himself to float into the dark of sleep— that a slave could one day marry his master. It was a pleasant thought regardless, he decided, a dream to last him the night.

* * *

Viktor rarely ventured beyond the walls of the harem, but when he did, he found himself wandering through a small courtyard, admiring the different phases of a flowering cherry blossom tree, watching the small pink buds bloom into flowers, the petals falling to make way for green leaves. After Viktor spent a few months sitting on the ground, sheltering from the sun under its branches, a bench was added. It was small, but comfortable. 

He could feel the strange prickling sensation of being watched, though he allowed the feeling to pass. Surely there were people staring at a slave reading a book in the summer sun. Viktor was in the small few who could read at all, but he wasn’t born into his position, as so many were. No, Viktor had been lured away from home with promises that were never meant to be kept. International slave trade had been banned for decades, but nothing short of extreme measures stopped those beyond the law. Those that remained slaves were third, fourth, fifth generations of people in chains. 

Viktor was able to take small comfort in that his contract had been bought for a hefty enough price that Yakov had indeed released Yuri from his debt; Viktor knew better than to wonder how Yuri had managed to have a letter delivered to him, but it was soothing at the very least to know his friend was safe. Viktor began to wonder if Christophe had begun pulling strings for him, whispering requests to those of higher stations than theirs. Soon the small library was replenished with new books, a second shelf added, even. 

It made Viktor’s heart soar to read the second volume of a novel he had read months ago, to learn what had befallen the fair maiden locked in the tower by the witch. He spent more and more days reading those books in the sunshine, and more days forgetting why he had been summoned in the first place. Life was easy and boring, and Viktor enjoyed it.

Long summer days faded faster than Viktor would have preferred, but nothing compared to the small pleasure of dressing in a pair of soft trousers and a woolen sweater. He continued spending his days reading, though choosing to make his place at the hearth instead of beneath the cherry blossom tree. 

By the time the autumn festivals had passed, word reached Viktor that the Emperor had fallen ill and was declining rapidly; gossip traveled fast among the concubines and servants. The Prince was rumored to ascend to the throne within weeks, and Viktor could hardly contain his excitement. He would soon be able to see the Prince again, to be able to pleasure his master as he was meant to. 

Men came for him the very next morning. They wore dark cloaks obscuring their faces, their forms… it was only by their voices and their hands that Viktor could tell they were a special conclave of trainers like Master Trainer had been. All of them were branded, the backs of their hands marked with the same sigil as Master Trainer had. They led him down long, twisting hallways that Viktor had never seen. Granted, he rarely ventured beyond the courtyard and occasionally the kitchens, but by the time they stopped in front of a door, any hope of knowing where they were was utterly lost on Viktor. 

It was in this small room that Viktor remained for nearly too long to remember, the space no more than a comfortable bed and a chair. He was fed well, was given a bath with treatments and oils every evening, and Viktor savored the routine. He was met three times a day by a different trainer, all of them with varying levels of disinterest as they worked. It was a comforting return to routine for Viktor, despite the men reacting as if he had not spent most of his recent years as a pleasure slave. 

He didn’t mind it, there was something soothing in being made useful again. He allowed himself to be manipulated and moved in every position; he performed and pleasured in every way the trainers instructed him to; he proved the talent he had been known for again and again. 

“The Prince’s coronation is today.” His trainer informed him on his fifteenth day in that room. “You’ll be presented to him tonight.”

Viktor was ready, Lady, was he ready. He ached to see his master again, those beautiful eyes… his soft voice. He had dreamt of him more nights than not, imagining what kind of pleasure he could bring him, how he would be made useful again after so long. It hardly felt real, that he belonged to the Emperor.

“Yes, my Lord,” Viktor replied, “Thank you.” Without much more time to react, he was whisked away down another long set of hallways and doors, up long, spiraling staircases. The heat in the halls slowly climbed, pristine white marble floors soon replacing the rough-hewn stone of the lower levels, the harem. 

Viktor blinked as sunlight filtered in through wide windows, feeling it warm his skin wonderfully. Winter was coming soon, but behind the panes of glass, Viktor felt warm. He could barely keep himself from smiling as he was led through the bustle of servants preparing for the coronation ceremony and feast. The palace was buzzing and alive, and Viktor felt alive as well. 

Viktor sighed as he sank deeper into the bath, feeling the water warm his very bones. Glittering blue mosaic tiles under him caught and refracted sunlight like the gems in his cuff, sending arrays of dancing color on Viktor’s skin as he bathed. The hot water was pumped into the room as if by magic, no servants returned to refresh the water as he bathed. It remained hot and pristine for nearly an hour, and Viktor could not think of anything other than the magic of it all. 

The luxury felt so odd, something so impossibly different to the life Viktor had known before. He had barely been something deserving a cold bath weekly, but now… as the Emperor's pleasure slave? He was bathing in streaming hot water, soaking in oils and treatments as his hair was tended by another slave, and _Lady,_ did it feel strange. 

Before long he was coaxed out of the bath and wrapped in a soft, plush towel, guided to a vanity where a full tray of glittering gems was laid out. Piece by piece Viktor was decorated with gold and pearls, the hoop in his nose and two matching bars in his nipples were exchanged for new sparkling ones. The bracelets wrapped around his wrists and ankles jingled softly as he moved; delicate chains looped through every one of his decorations and wove it all together in a spider’s web of gold across his body. He felt heavy and decorated, but it only built the anticipation higher.

“I’ve heard he… _the Emperor_ is a virgin.” a quiet voice whispered behind him, as a pair of women entered the room, carrying a thin lace shift. “No one has ever seen him take a partner.”

Viktor was no stranger to virgins, fathers often paid for their sons to earn their manhood with him. Even after he and Christophe had discussed the rumors of the Emperor’s lack of partners, Viktor still found himself in disbelief that such a beautiful man of such status, such _power_ had not bedded another.

“You’ve _seen_ him, there’s no way he hasn’t.” the other replied as she helped Viktor into the garment, lace pooling around his frame in every perfect way. It drifted around his feet as if he was under water, like sea foam at the shore, from distant memories of the days before he was taken.

"Maybe he can't get it up." one of them snickered, and Viktor bit his lip. It was hardly his place to intervene in such a matter, those women were of the royal household and far, far above Viktor's own rank as a pleasure slave. 

“Shut the fuck up,” one of the men attending him hissed, nodding sharply at Viktor. His features were placid as always, merely listening as earrings were threaded through the holes in his ears. “Can you two at the _very_ least not gossip about the Emperor on his coronation day?”

Both women stared at the man as if he had spoken a different language instead of the Common Tongue, and two wicked smiles spread across their mouths. 

" _Sure_ ," one of them cooed, and Viktor could hear the edge of sarcasm dripping from painted lips. There were a few muffled titters as final touches were made, and a handful of quick, whispered words met Viktor’s ears. Something ugly settled in his stomach at the thought of such crass gossip about the Emperor, the kind man who had taken his father’s throne when he fell ill, the man who had helped his father quell a rebellion peacefully. The Emperor had already proven himself a wise negotiator and was beloved by common folk… and yet members of the royal household whispered. 

A thought, bright and hot burst forth in his mind like flint sparking to life. He was property of the Emperor. He would have a direct audience with their ruler, even if all he was used for was the sating of carnal urges. Viktor felt something bubbling in his mind and wondered… _no,_ he forced himself to stop the thoughts. He couldn't possibly offer the Emperor any kind of _assistance_. He was only a pet. He couldn't possibly convey the goings on of the palace to the Emperor… or inform him of rumors, or gossip floating through the halls outside of his supervision…

Could he?

His hair was artfully braided and woven with gold, the small freckles on his cheeks covered by a fine dusting of iridescent powder. His eyes were rimmed with dark kohl and smudged with gold, and when Viktor was finally allowed a glimpse of himself, he hardly recognized his reflection. 

There was a great rush of cool air as the doors opened again, a flurry of activity bursting into the room and Viktor startled at the interruption. 

“Oh, scald the land, why is he still down here?” A voice demanded, and Viktor looked up to see the face of a man he had been described many times; a shorter man with tanned skin, short, dark hair and striking grey-brown eyes. This was Councilor Chulanont, Viktor knew it. “You were supposed to send him up half an hour ago!”

“I… I’m sorry, my lord, there was some confusion over his attire,” the male attendant began but Councilor Chulanont waved him off in a hurry. 

“Honestly, I should ask His Majesty to give every one of you a watch.” the short man muttered and nodded at Viktor. “You look wonderful, I’m sure the Emperor will be quite pleased.” The smile on his cheeks made Viktor flush. He knew this man was privy to the Emperor’s wishes and had surely been passing whispers from Christophe to his master. What did the Emperor know about him already?

“His slave certainly hopes so,” Viktor answered in a quiet voice, bowing respectfully. 

Councilor Chulanont smiled softly and nodded toward the door. “Come along then, the feast has just begun.” Viktor hurried to his side, all of his chains and jewelry ringing like tiny bells as he moved. Perhaps that was the purpose of them after all, to alert the Emperor should his slave attempt to escape. “His Majesty has been quite eager to be with you.”

Viktor felt his heart flutter at the thought of it. “I’m glad to hear so. I hope I can please His Majesty.”

“Oh, don’t worry about that,” Councilor Chulanont laughed cheerily, “He’ll be lucky to last more than a few moments with you, I’m sure.”

Viktor wasn’t sure how to respond to that respectfully, so he held his tongue as they walked. They climbed narrow stairwells and crossed through bustling halls of servants and waitstaff, a handful of people stopping to stare as Viktor passed. He felt as if he was a new pet being shown off for the first time, and wasn’t entirely sure if he liked the attention or not. 

After walking through a handful of great marble arches and doorways, they came to a final doorway, guarded by four heavily armed men. Viktor’s heart dropped into his stomach as he realized where they were, and what exactly these men were guarding. Councilor Chulanont leaned forward and whispered something to the guard at the right of the door. 

“And this is him?” the man replied gruffly, nodding at Viktor with a dismissive eye. His temporary guide nodded eagerly, and the man scanned Viktor up and down. “Understood.”

Viktor was pulled through the door as soon as it was opened, leading him into a lavish sitting room; thick curtains covered the walls just as plush rugs were sprawled across the floor, a roaring fire sat in one of the most obscenely large hearths Viktor had ever imagined, taller than he was and at least twice his height wide. There was a small dog, dozing in front of the fireplace, and Viktor nearly broke every one of Master Trainer’s rules to greet the pup. He bit his lip to restrain himself as Councilor Chulanont brought him deeper into the rooms. 

These rooms, Viktor realized, may be convenient to remember. He was pulled through the sitting room and past a small dining room, a study with three walls of books was beyond an open door, a closed door that Viktor assumed hid the facilities from the public eye, and finally, he was led into a sprawling bedroom. 

Viktor could barely withhold a gasp at the sight of a massive four-poster bed with thick royal blue curtains tied to the posts. A fire was blazing in this room as well, a much smaller hearth still provided warmth to the space that was much welcome in the late autumn days.

“I know. It’s big.” Councilor Chulanont laughed, nodding toward the bed. “He hates it, he thinks it’s too big for one.”

Viktor couldn’t help but agree, having slept most of his days on a straw mattress on the floor. “When will he be coming for me?” Viktor asked, turning to see his guide lifting a box from one of his entourage’s arms. 

“Within an hour, I would guess,” he answered, setting the wooden box on the bed and beckoning Viktor to follow. “You will want to start to prepare.” he said softly, opening the lid for Viktor to see. Within laid multiple bottles of oil and a toy. Viktor’s eyes widened at it. 

“Trust me.” Councilor Chulanont said firmly, meeting his eye seriously. “I’m not sure how things operated at the Ice Castle, but… he would like to participate in… preparation. So take your time.” Viktor almost balked at the idea, at the thought of someone else preparing his hole for cock. Before he could voice a protest, Councilor Chulanont was bidding him a good evening and retreating from the room, leaving Viktor alone in the Emperor’s bedroom, draped in finery and holding a rather large phallus in one hand. 

Viktor felt like he was committing a crime by climbing into that bed. It was so soft under his hand when he trailed fingers across it, but Master Trainer’s voice hissed at him quietly that beds were only for fucking. _Unless you’re being used, you don’t belong on a bed._ His hand shook as he picked one of the bottles of oil and gingerly set the box on the ground beside the bed, out of sight. 

The toy in his hand had a realistic heft to it, it felt like a real cock. There was a small space in front of the fire that was not covered in a thick rug, and Viktor gladly made himself comfortable on his knees there. His stomach twisted at the thought of dripping anything on the beautiful carpet… he would rather eat his own tongue than displease his new master. 

His jewelry clinked together softly as he uncorked the bottle and poured a bit of oil onto his first two fingers. He hitched the lace of his shift up over his ass, pushed aside the meager underthings he had been given and found his hole by muscle memory, easily pressing those two slicked fingers into himself. The sting was familiar, the burn nothing more than a reminder of his role. He worked efficiently, ensuring he would be relaxed when the Emperor arrived. 

Why would he want to participate in preparing him? Viktor’s mind ran wild with possibilities, but the only one that made any semblance of sense was that His Majesty was horribly, terribly possessive. The thought roused something warm in Viktor as he stretched himself, and for the briefest of moments, he allowed himself to feel it.

He had never been permitted to enjoy sex the way the Lords did, and he had specifically been taught not to. They had tried to tell him his body wasn’t meant to work like the Lords’ did, that he wasn’t meant to find climax like the men did… but here, warmed by the hearth, in anticipation of being used by his master, Viktor felt the way he had felt before. Before his captivity, before the Training House, when he was still young and learning what pleasure felt like.

A soft noise moved through his nose as his fingers brushed something inside him he had only felt bluntly assaulted before, but now, when he sought it out again, the door to the room was slowly opened. It heaved a great sigh on its hinges and Viktor immediately withdrew his fingers and folded himself in half. 

“Why… are you on the floor?” A quiet, familiar voice asked, sounding out of breath, and Viktor felt himself flinch. Would he be angry that he had been seeking his own pleasure? "I thought… Phichit was supposed to…”

“Your slave thought it best to prepare somewhere that wouldn’t become messy,” Viktor answered, his voice tight. He kept his gaze on the floor, until a pair of soft house slippers came into view. 

“Please, stand,” that familiar voice implored Viktor, and he obeyed as if his life depended on it. Perhaps it truly did. Viktor scrambled to his feet, his jewelry moving and swaying beneath his shift as he did. “Oh… look at you…” Viktor held his breath as the Emperor reached a careful hand toward Viktor, smoothing it over the band on his right arm. 

Viktor swore he felt his hand quiver as he traced the draped chains beneath his gauzy robe, splaying his fingers over the curve of his hip. “Is His Majesty pleased with his slave?” Viktor ventured to ask, still holding his gaze on his own bare feet. 

“Very, very very pleased. Though… I would like to know your name.” The Emperor asked, lifting one hand to Viktor’s cheek, stroking it gently. 

“Your slave’s name is whatever you wish it to be,” Viktor answered, and again, he heard that soft hum. It may have been disapproval; Viktor recoiled at the thought of his master’s displeasure. 

“Mm. You seemed to be in the middle of something?” The Emperor asked, the hand stroking his cheek cupping it, a thumb smoothing over his cheekbone. “Lovely, may I see your eyes?”

Viktor had been praised before, all empty words said by men in moments of bliss, but never had words felt so real. Viktor blinked once and looked up from his feet, finding the pair of warm mahogany eyes that had enraptured him nearly a year ago. Here, in the innermost chambers of the palace, alone, Viktor allowed himself the briefest moment of yearning. The Emperor’s features were flawless, a warm flush clung to defined cheekbones and a sharp jaw. He was wearing a simple golden circlet, and matching the band around Viktor's arm, it was marked with sparkling blue gems. 

Viktor could feel the weight of the symbol as heavily as he could feel the brand on his back. 

“I’ve been very eager for this night,” the Emperor said softly, his cheeks flushing bright red and rosy in a way that Viktor could only see as endearing. “And I… I truly do not mind if you make a mess.”

Viktor nodded, the implication sending a shudder down his spine. “Yes, Your Majesty.” he uttered in reply, and followed half a step behind as his master moved toward the bed. “Would you like me to disrobe you?” Viktor asked in a rush of breath as the Emperor began to move for the tie of his robes.

He froze in place, as if the thought had only now occurred to him. He nodded slowly and watched with hunger in his eyes as Viktor approached. In the quiet between them, Viktor’s footsteps felt thunderous, though they were nearly silent as always. Viktor worked quickly to untie the closures of the Emperor’s yukata as he had been taught in the two weeks of training he had been given. 

The man sighed softly as Viktor’s fingers loosened the knots, and Viktor couldn’t take his eyes off the curve of his mouth. His lips were red with wine, his cheeks flushed and rosy. Lady, he was beautiful. His eyes were half-lidded and pupils were blown wide.

“I… I want to watch you,” the Emperor whispered hoarsely, the rasp of arousal familiar to Viktor, but simultaneously exciting and new. The inner ties of his robe fell away and the man languidly shrugged out of his heavy robes. Beneath the clothing, his master was magnificent, lean yet muscled— surely a result of his martial arts training. Viktor had seen so many bare bodies, but _his…_ his was Viktor’s favorite.

His stomach was as defined as those made of marble, prominent hip bones pointing down in a v to a thick thatching of dark hair. Councilor Chulanont’s implied words had been right, the length between the Emperor’s legs was impressive, and despite the clear wine flush on his throat and cheeks, he was hard and red at the tip where his cock had begun to emerge from the foreskin.

“Will you… on the bed?” he asked, reaching for the silk ribbon lacing of Viktor’s gown and loosening the tie. Viktor felt himself shudder as his master eased the lace off his body. 

“Yes, Your Majesty,” Viktor breathed, climbing up into the pile of soft pillows and cushions. “Like this?” He asked as he knelt near the foot of the bed, the Emperor joining him. 

“Wherever you are most comfortable, lovely,” he replied, waiting patiently. Viktor furrowed his brow at the man’s conscientiousness. He was a slave, nothing more, he could have prepared himself in the splits if the man demanded it. But he was kind and spoke quietly, and Viktor felt a thrill run down his spine as he settled into place on his knees, and a tender hand rested in the small of his back. 

A small grunt escaped Viktor’s mouth as he twisted his fingers inside him, trying to find that spot again. It felt urgent to find it again, and with the warmth of his hand against Viktor’s skin… Lady, it felt as if his life depended on it. A quiet whine cut through him as the hand on his back moved down to the curve of his ass, squeezing tentatively. 

The attention felt heavy and thick in his core. It was unfamiliar to all the attention he’d had before. Viktor allowed a small moan to rumble into the bedding below, one that wasn't false or exaggerated for the first time in years. A similar sound came from behind him, and it made Viktor shudder.

"Let me hear you?" the Emperor murmured, smoothing his hand over Viktor's flank. A tremble rolled over Viktor in a rippling wave and a moan spilled from his lips, louder this time. The fear that his new master would be cruel, would be harsh melted away with the gentle touch. His memory of the Emperor was colored by the only other time they had crossed paths, seeing each other at his Choosing. He had scarcely said ten words to him, his voice was so soft and careful that Viktor thought he might have been timid.

Viktor gasped as the Emperor’s fingers made their way beneath the gauzy underthings he was wearing, pulling them gently to the side. He was so careful Viktor felt like he might combust, the contrast between the two of them was so severe. 

“May I?” the Emperor asked, his voice slightly hoarse. He pulled on the thin ties holding the garment together, and Viktor nodded. He _asked_ when Viktor knew he could simply _take_. He shuddered as all of his flesh was exposed, warmed by the fire and the Emperor’s gaze. He pushed another finger into himself and moaned at the stretch, feeling the hand on his ass gripping tight, pulling his cheeks apart. 

Viktor shuddered, feeling warm hands sneaking closer to where he was touching himself. Tender hands joined his own, carefully pressing at his rim.

“Y… Your Majesty,” Viktor gasped, fighting the urge to shy away from the touch. “You don’t have to t-touch your slave there,” he pressed another finger into himself to speed along the process, if the Emperor was so eager to touch him.

“I _want_ to touch you here, beautiful,” his soft voice surprised Viktor with its tenderness. “I’d like to help prepare you, I want to open you up.”

Viktor wanted to curl into himself and never emerge. He would have been whipped for such a thought at the training house. A patron preparing him, much more sinful an _Emperor_ do such dirty work as this had his stomach churning. 

"I… y-your slave can manage, you needn't dirty your hands." Viktor whispered weakly, and it was out of his mouth before he could think of the insolence he had committed. "I'm sorry, forgive me, Your Majesty, your slave speaks out of turn." The Emperor withdrew his fingers immediately, and Viktor folded himself in half in shame.

“You’ve committed no sin, beautiful,” he whispered in reply, running a soothing hand down the curve of Viktor’s spine. "What is your name?" his voice still held that soft, gentle tone, and Viktor could barely think in a straight line. "Tell me. I want to know."

How could he defy the order of an Emperor?

"Viktor, Your Majesty." Viktor breathed, coiled tight as if he would receive punishment there on the bed. He had in the past; Councilor Bors had given him the jewel-encrusted end of his cane more than once.

"Is this the name your family gave you?" The Emperor asked, a firm hand still resting on his asscheek, careful fingers winding inward. Viktor sighed as the whorl of his fingerprint pressed into him, breaching him by his own hand for the first time. 

"Y-yes, Your Majesty." His finger was quickly joined by another, the pair curling downward just perfectly, making Viktor sob a moan so loud he thought the guards might hear.

"Oh, that's the spot, isn't it, Viktor?" his voice purred, and Viktor nodded, unsure of what precisely he meant. Whatever it was, it was certainly _the spot_. “So sensitive…” the Emperor mumbled, surely to himself, but Viktor couldn’t help but agree. He had slept with so many, spent so many nights under strangers and dignitaries, but he had never felt this impossibly aroused. 

“Yes, yes,” Viktor chanted, feeling himself grow hard between his legs. Master Trainer thought he had whipped it out of him, forced his mind to break the connection between his body and the act of pleasuring men. But Viktor felt himself growing warm in his belly, that familiar flame that he thought he had forgotten. 

The blunt end of that toy soon replaced fingers, and Viktor sobbed with the shift in pleasures; being breached, being filled, it was impossibly arousing in a way that Viktor had never felt before. His toes curled into the bedclothes as the toy pressed in deeper, sliding into that spot again. 

“Are you ready?” the Emperor asked gently after the toy had been pushed into him completely, rocked slowly in and out of him. “May I take you, Viktor?”

“Yes, yes please,” Viktor trembled as he replied, a full-bodied shiver took over him. He was using his name, and the sound of it was nearly too much from such a powerful tongue. He couldn’t wait anymore, he couldn’t take the thought of another moment without being filled. He could barely spare a second thought to the Emperor _asking_ for his permission… He pushed the thoughts down and turned, reaching for the vial of oil on the nightstand to prepare his master’s cock. 

“Viktor, you don’t need to do that for me,” the Emperor said, pressing Viktor’s shoulder down into the mattress. Viktor obeyed the silent direction and melted into the bed, laying on his back. His cock stirred between his legs at the sight of his Master stroking himself, slicking himself up with oil, one knee up on the bed. He had always done this task for his clients, never had he watched. Or enjoyed watching. 

Viktor bit his lip as he watched the flared head of the Emperor’s cock slide through the end of his furled fist, the tip reddened and dripping with milky precome. Viktor let his legs fall open, encouraging his master without words. The bed dipped with his weight as they settled into position, the Emperor slotted between his thighs, his cock heavy and hard and ready. Viktor could feel his heartbeat in his throat and he tipped his head backward onto the pillow, the sight nearly too much to manage. 

“Viktor?” the Emperor breathed, cupping his cheek with one hand. “Are you uncomfortable?” The concern in his eyes made Viktor’s stomach twist. “Do you need more preparation?”

“No, no, Your Majesty, your slave is prepared,” Viktor stammered, arching his hips upward to prove his point. He was surprised at how hard his own cock was, it felt heavy and hot against his hip. “Your slave did not want to displease you with its own… _wants_.”

The Emperor paused for a moment, reading Viktor’s features as easily as he would read words on a page. “The only thing that would displease me is the lack of pleasure on this angelic face, Viktor.” His lips were parted and pink, stained slightly red with wine, and silhouetted by the fire roaring in the hearth behind him, he cast Viktor entirely in warm, dark shadow. “Please, don’t call yourself such a thing… you’re. You’re a person. You’re Viktor.”

Viktor’s blood froze at the reproach and he nodded, squeezing his eyes shut tight. “Apologies, Your Majesty, your- I… I’m sorry,” he caught himself, feeling like he was sinning referring to himself in the presence of his master. But if this was what he wanted, Viktor would comply. “I will not do it again.”

The Emperor’s features softened and he leaned down into the space between them. “Thank you. Thank you Viktor.” The words were soft and fragrant on Viktor’s tongue and he shuddered at the taste. A gentle rustle of the bedclothes was Viktor’s only warning before the Emperor’s lips were on his, careful but hungry; Viktor kissed with a fervor that he had long forgotten. Men didn't kiss pleasure slaves.

But his Master did. And Viktor never wanted another's hands on him again. He kissed greedily, taking everything the Emperor gave him. It didn't occur to him that he could be breaking every conceivable rule. All he felt was the warm slide of tongue against his lips, panting breaths fanning across his cheeks. 

The brush of his cock against Viktor's hole had him gasping into the Emperor's mouth, his thighs falling further open. He was desperate to be used by his proper master, not the cloaked Lords who trained him, who prepared him, tested him. He was ready, and had been for months. 

"Hold on to me," the Emperor panted against Viktor's open mouth, and Viktor obeyed without a second thought. He flung his arms around his shoulders, gripping his own wrists at the base of his neck. 

"Your Majesty," Viktor whimpered, sounding every ounce the needy mess he felt. It was delirious, like a fever dream Viktor had never thought to have before now. "Please, please, use me."

Never before had the heat of a cock against him had Viktor so desperate for more. The Emperor’s length was pressing into him slowly, smoothly, and it drove him mad. He was thick and hot, like warmed steel wrapped in velvet. Every inch that he pressed in Viktor was sure was the last, but there was still more. More and more and more, until Viktor swore he could feel the intrusion of him in his throat.

“ _Oh, Lady_ ,” the Emperor swore under his breath as he bottomed out, the heat of their flesh finally meeting. “You’re perfect, _fuck_.”

Viktor whined and rolled his hips, angling the length inside him perfectly toward that spot within him. He let out a wrecked, pleasured sob, more of a sound than he had ever voluntarily made before that night. 

“Fuck me,” Viktor begged, unwilling to allow doubt to push into his mind. His master wanted to see pleasure. “Please, please.” He was beginning to lose control of his mouth as it rambled senselessly, without care for his station. His hands curled into tight fists as the Emperor withdrew himself and slid home again, the slick glide of the oil easing the way.

Those perfect lips were bitten red within moments, sweat beading at his brow as he began slow, rolling thrusts. Viktor felt as if he had been lit on fire by his touch alone, smoldering and all-consuming as his body opened around his master’s cock. 

“Y-your Majesty,” Viktor moaned wetly, the pleasure already threatening to pull him under. It was building in his core, tightening in a way he hadn’t felt in years. 

“Please, Viktor, call me Yuuri,” the Emperor moaned, quickening his pace by what felt like double. “I’ve imagined this, so many times, and when I do, you call me Yuuri. You moan my name so perfectly, love, can I hear it?”

It was criminal to refer to his master, his Emperor by such a casual name. But how could he say no? Viktor sobbed, feeling flayed open and raw in the best way. He was going mad with it, the Emperor found every single one of his sensitive places with the devastating accuracy he wished he had found in patrons and Lords. 

“Y...Yuuri,” Viktor moaned, and something wild broke loose in him then. The only word he knew in the common tongue was that name, the spoken word of his Master was all he needed. Viktor panted his name between sharp gasps for breath, every sound punched out of him with the slap of the Emperor’s hips against his. 

“Yuuri!” Viktor screamed as a shaking hand wrapped around his cock and stroked, milking a hot string of precome from him. “Yuuuuri, I, f-feels good,” he managed with a choked voice, his body nearly folded in half below the Emperor’s.

“Good.” Yuuri grunted, fucking relentlessly into Viktor’s tremor-wracked body, "I want you to feel good."

Viktor couldn't think to protest. His hands scrambled for a hold on Yuuri's back, fingernails scraping skin desperately. The Emperor hissed at the pain but did not stop, gripping tighter around Viktor's thigh. 

"I've waited, s-so long," the Emperor ground out, shifting his angle and aiming directly for that spot. "So _fucking_ long to touch you, to love you." 

Viktor couldn't hear the words he was saying, he could barely hear himself breathing over the pounding of his heart and the thud of flesh on flesh where they were joined. He knew he was begging, words falling from his lips without coherent thought. Yuuri stroked him sloppily in time with his thrusts, burying himself to the hilt over and over again. 

"I, I'm close," Yuuri panted, his hips bucking wildly into Viktor's. "May I? Inside?”

Viktor whimpered his yes with a wet, shaky voice; his thighs were clenched so tightly it hurt. It wouldn’t dawn on him until later that he had _asked_. His hand was still fisting Viktor’s cock, jerking like he had been struck by lightning, panting for breath and beyond words. That dizzying tightness behind his navel threatened to consume him entirely as the Emperor shouted his name. His cock throbbed inside him, his body wrung Yuuri dry.

“Y-Yuuri,” Viktor sobbed, his voice high and tight in his throat. Pleasure was building in his core, higher and higher, tighter and tighter, threatening to snap him in half. “Please!” He cried as the Emperor’s softening cock was pulled from his body. Yuuri took his length in his mouth and Viktor was screaming before he could even process what had happened. 

His vision blurred around the edges, his thighs clamped tightly around Yuuri’s ears. Every line of his body went taut and rigid, pleasure screamed through him like a flashfire: hot and sudden, impossible to survive. Yuuri lapped tenderly at his cock as it flagged, every delicate touch of his warm, wet mouth had him twitching, whimpering with sensitivity. 

He wasn’t sure how long he stayed there, pinned down by the Emperor’s arms, pleasure reverberating through him like a cathedral bell. It had been so long he had forgotten what it felt like to fall over that precipice, let alone how wonderful it felt to have a mouth on his cock. It was addicting, dangerously so.

“You did so well,” he heard the Emperor whisper as he returned to his body. His master was holding him close, a stream of spend was trickling from his used hole, but Viktor was too far done in the afterglow to move. His legs were still shaking. “I can’t believe how amazing you were.”

Viktor had heard such compliments before, and rarely did they have such honesty, such a heavy truth behind them. “Thank you, Your Majesty,” Viktor replied, leaning into his touch as he ran his fingers through Viktor’s hair. “Shall I clean you?” He asked, mindful of the mess he had made of the Emperor’s cock.

“Rest, beautiful. I’ll take care of it.” His voice was firm but warm, and Viktor knew better than to argue. He held his tongue and savored the gentle touch before he was surely sent away again. The crackle of the fire filled the silence between them as they caught their breath, heartbeats returned to a slow, steady rhythm.

“I despise the circumstances of it,” the Emperor sighed after a while, running his fingertips over the cuff on Viktor’s bicep. “The tradition. All of it. It’s barbaric.”

Viktor remained quiet, not daring to speak out of turn. It was terrifying to imagine that the Emperor would despise what structures brought them together. He pushed himself closer into his side, wishing the ill feelings away, pushing it all down the way he had been taught.

“ _Civilization must be built on the backs of slaves_ …” The Emperor muttered, his mouth turned downward like he tasted bile in the back of his throat. “I’m ashamed of my ancestry, truly.”

“Your Majesty--” Viktor began, hoping to soothe that anger, but the Emperor pressed a kiss to his lips instead. Viktor could taste himself on his lips.

“Please, Viktor, do not feel the need to assuage me of my family’s tresspasses.” He whispered against Viktor’s lips, holding his chin with a gentle hand. “I did not take part, but I can certainly begin reparations for the sins of the past.” Viktor furrowed his brow and tipped his head to the side in question, a small smile curling at the Emperor’s lips. “You look like my Vicchan.” He remarked, and Viktor felt himself smiling. 

“We are both your pets, Your Majesty.” 

The Emperor’s features fell. “I would much prefer you in a different role than a mere pet, in honesty.” Viktor felt his heart clench at the shift in his temperament, his warm eyes tinged with something sad, something Viktor couldn’t quite see. “Journeys are best begun with a single step, yes?”

Viktor paused for a moment before nodding. “Yes, Your Majesty.” he answered carefully.

“Viktor, I cannot in good conscience allow you to simply warm my bed.” The Emperor sat up, his back marred by long red shadows of Viktor’s fingernails. “I understand if you would prefer it, of course. But if you would like, I would ask you to remain at my side as my consort. I understand you’re intelligent as well, I’ve been told you’re sharp as a whip. And you’ve been making use of the library, yes?” He asked, and Viktor nodded tentatively. “I know there’s a lot to teach you, but… perhaps, if you’d like, you could sit by my side, assist me in strategy, and diplomatic matters.”

Viktor blinked, wide-eyed and confused at the Emperor, his amber eyes so earnest, without a trace of irony or sarcasm. “You… you would ask your slave to participate in… in court matters?” How could that _possibly_ be the truth? How could he hand such a power to his _slave_? Would he parade him around as some sort of spectacle? Not that he would mind, accompanying him, wearing his gold and silks.

The Emperor shook his head slowly. “No, not my slave. My consort. _The_ Royal Consort, if I’ve not misread the law, is the right hand of the monarch, and you would look stunning in the royal blue.” His features were so soft, so kind. Viktor felt like he could drown in those endless amber eyes. "You're clever, more so than most of my court." Viktor blinked at him, wondering how on earth he could know such a thing. "I... may have inquired about you with Councilor Chulanont. I hope you don’t find it intrusive."

"No, I... I wouldn't dream of it." Viktor answered truthfully, though the shock of it was still washing over him in waves.

"I've heard so much about you through others, Viktor. Watching you read in the courtyard. I've had enough of watching. Of hearing. I want to know you myself."

Viktor stared, open mouthed. “I don’t… understand.” Was it all a trick? Was all of it no more than a ruse, a cruel joke at his expense? The Emperor, playing at kindness, at tenderness, might have been opening a door only to shut it as Viktor attempted to step through. He had been swayed by deals that had been too good to be true before.

“Viktor… my father, before he fell ill, had begun a quite ambitious endeavor.” The Emperor began, ringing a small bell at his bedside. “He had planned one final act and decree, but…” he trailed off, a soft sigh falling from his lips. Viktor’s heart clenched in his chest. He remained at his side as a few attendants joined them, bringing in a small basin and washcloths. 

“Your Majesty, would you like a bath?” one of the servants asked, and Yuuri nodded, turning to Viktor.

“Join me?” he asked softly, and Viktor nodded, still reeling with shock. “Both of us will.” The Emperor answered, and the three attendants made haste out of the room again. Viktor felt his stomach crawl up into his chest at the thought of doing something so intimate as bathing with him, but he couldn’t refuse another way to serve him. Perhaps he could comb his hair, or even help him find pleasure in the bath as well. 

“As I was saying,” the Emperor continued, trailing an errant finger around the cuff on Viktor’s arm. “My father’s last decree was to abolish the trade, of all types. It’s barbaric, disgusting, it’s-” the Emperor spat, anger rising in his tone again before swallowing it down. He pressed out a slow breath and continued. “It’s absolutely inexcusable. In all forms. The plan my father and I had begun is… _ambitious._ It won’t be easy. Everyone deserves to be treated as a human being, not a commodity to be bought and sold. But I… I need help. My experiences can’t possibly be enough on their own. I can’t imagine completing my father’s work without someone…”

“Someone… like me.” Viktor completed the statement, and the Emperor nodded shyly. “But why me? Do you not have hundreds of servants in the palace? Do you not want me… for what I’m supposed to do?”

The Emperor’s eyes softened. The hand caressing the jeweled band around his arm moved up to cup Viktor’s cheek. The touch was so tender, so careful that he almost flinched. Perhaps he had gone a bit soft in the intervening time since the Ice Castle. 

“Oh… Viktor, of course I do. I’m _very_ attracted to you. I chose you on my twenty-first birthday after seeing you once. Not just because you’re beautiful, but because I want to know you.” All charades of power and the glittering gold trappings of it had faded before this moment, but Viktor felt for the first time as if the Emperor was only a man. 

Viktor watched as he dipped a cloth into the basin and gently wiped the mess on his stomach away. Viktor shied away from the touch, in shock that the Emperor would stoop to cleaning him, but he continued, clearing away the mess between his thighs as well. “I haven’t been able to be close to you since that day, but now that I am…” he pressed out a long, heavy breath, “I don’t think I can bear to be without you again.”

Viktor’s cheeks felt warm, surely an effect of what the Emperor had done to his body earlier, bringing him to the same crest he had been so used to giving others. “You certainly have the stamina for such a task… I’ll do my best to keep up with you, Your Majesty.”

He stared back at Viktor with a confused expression, his mouth drawn downward in a small frown. “Viktor… I don’t just want you in bed. I want to get to know who you are, what you enjoy, and… well. Do more than watch you read under the sakura tree.”

Viktor felt himself flush again. “You were watching me?” 

“Mm,” the Emperor nodded, sitting forward and easing Viktor up as well. It took Viktor only half a moment to realize their fingers had interlaced, but the Emperor did not move to extricate his hand from Viktor’s. “I asked them to put the bench there. You seemed so uncomfortable on the ground.”

“Thank you, Your Majesty.” Viktor replied, sighing into the hand that came up to cup his cheek. 

“Please, Viktor, call me Yuuri,” the Emperor implored, the earnest ache in his eyes nearly enough to break Viktor’s heart. It was such an impossible breach of etiquette, but how could he refuse an order from his master? From… _Yuuri?_

“Thank you, Yuuri.” Viktor said in a small voice, parting his lips again to ask what he had meant earlier, the thoughts of becoming his Royal Consort, but the room was suddenly abuzz with people again. Viktor held his tongue as the Emperor- _Yuuri_ , he reminded himself- stood from the bed and arched his back. 

An attendant eased Yuuri into a plush dressing gown, as another hurried to Viktor’s side, offering him one as well. Viktor nearly recoiled at the luxury, but when he saw the Emperor’s reassuring smile, he allowed himself to relax into the treatment. They were brought into the bath, which was much larger than Viktor had anticipated it to be. It wasn’t as large as the public baths in the harem, but it was certainly large enough for the two of them to share comfortably. 

Their conversation halted for a few moments as the small tiled room was full of people, hurrying one way or another, but Viktor clung close to Yuuri’s side, the softness of the robe caressing all of him, the warmth of Yuuri seeping through the fabric. 

A handful of vials were poured into the bath, sweet aromas rose like steam into the air. A glass of wine was handed to Yuuri, and with a sharp glare from the Emperor, a second was filled and provided to Viktor. After the bathroom had fallen quiet and Viktor had sipped generously from his wine, nearly having forgotten his place, Yuuri turned to him and eased him out of the soft robe. 

“They sure did dress you up, didn’t they?” he laughed quietly, unhooking every dainty chain of gold that had been laid across Viktor’s body. He felt lighter as the jewelry was removed, dropped into a small velvet box on the vanity counter, but the cuff remained. Viktor didn’t want to let it go, not after finally being claimed and held after the long night of waiting.

“They did,” Viktor answered, leaning into another soft kiss. “Thank you,” Viktor whispered when they broke apart, and Yuuri answered by pressing a soft kiss to Viktor’s cheek. The tenderness almost hurt. They sank into the bath together, Viktor’s wobbly legs aided by Yuuri’s strength and care.

“Thank _you,_ ” Yuuri answered. “May I hold you?” Viktor’s heart soared as he nodded, sliding into Yuuri’s arms and laying his head in the space between his shoulder and his ear. How long had it been since he had felt this way? Felt whole, felt wanted?

They fell silent for what felt like a lifetime, the fragrant hot water lapping against them felt so divine Viktor thought he might wake up from the dream at any moment. But he did not wake, he remained held by Yuuri, cradled in the warm water until their fingers looked like sun-dried raisins. Viktor yelped when strong arms picked him up and carried him from the bath, wrapping him in that downy towel again. 

It was Yuuri, tending to him like a household servant instead of the ruler of an empire. Viktor found himself too exhausted to refuse, too exhausted and warm and full of this unknowable feeling to protest such gentle hands. 

He was dressed in fine silk sleep clothes, a nearly identical pair to the one the Emperor was wearing. How could he deserve such finery? Viktor lingered in the doorway as Yuuri made his way back to that massive four-poster bed, the curtains were drawn on all but one side, the covers already turned down for him.

“Viktor?” he called, and Viktor looked his way carefully. Surely he couldn’t want him to join? 

“Your- _Yuuri_?” Viktor replied, his eyes transfixed on Yuuri’s, those warm browns flickering with the last of the fire in the hearth.

“Come to bed?” he asked, his voice suddenly quiet and soft. “Please?” Viktor stared for longer than was appropriate. How could he want such a thing?

“Am I not… to return to the harem?” Viktor asked, his mouth dry at the thought of sleeping in the same bed he had just been claimed in. Master Trainer’s voice was quieter now, but the thought persisted.

“No, Viktor, I…” Yuuri began, stepping back out of bed and toward him, taking both of his hands in his. “I meant it, when I said I don’t want you to leave my side.” The thought shook Viktor to his very center. What men said in the gossamer afterglow was rarely truth. The Emperor pulled him closer, wrapping him in his arms. Viktor looked down, realizing for the first time that he was, in fact, taller than his master. A small detail, to be sure, but Viktor clung to it, to the memory of feeling held, of being wrapped entirely in flesh and touch.

“Viktor.” his voice was soft, quiet in Viktor’s ear. “I want to know you. I… I’m already quite fond of you, I want to learn how to love you. Would you allow me the privilege of courting you?” 

All the breath in Viktor’s lungs was pressed out of him in one swift moment. “I… Your Majesty…” he began, feeling a swell of frightened tears tugging at the back of his throat. He was quickly guided toward that bed too large for one, and pulled into Yuuri’s arms, cradled in soft, clean bedclothes.

"It would last as long as you require," Yuuri promised, the warmth in his eyes, in his touch never once faltering. "You would be taught all you need and anything you desire beyond that. You need only say."

The thought was almost terrifying. How much was there to learn? How much could one mind hold? Did the Emperor know what he was offering? He had only just now been given his wings again, and Yuuri was promising him the open sky. All that endless space, the massive expanse of it felt too great to bear on his own. His knees shook, but Yuuri held him fast.

"And should you decide that life here, in the palace, with me, isn't where you wish to stay, you may go at any time." He continued, "Your freedom is not conditional. Say the word and we will find you a good life, a safe life."

What did that word even mean? Freedom. He hadn't known it for almost ten years. He didn't have it. Didn't expect to be given it. Didn't let himself wish for it. And yet it was handed to him without clause or condition. He had expected to walk into another contract, to be used by another master. But to be granted freedom... what an unknowable thing to possess, after all those years.

It was terrifying and all-encompassing. Scary. But he craved it.

His mind wandered for a moment, thinking of the different paths his life might take, should he decide to leave. What an impossible thought... walking free again. Could it all truly be his? The thought that he could choose to leave made the idea of staying... impossible to refuse. His happiness was a priority. A fulfilling life, a free life was a priority. And Viktor couldn't imagine wanting to let go of the warmth he had found in the Emperor's bed, in his arms.

"I want to find my mother again." Viktor said quietly, hiding in the crook of Yuuri's shoulder.

"We'll begin looking first thing in the morning, love." Yuuri promised with all the confidence an Emperor should possess. "Is there anything else you want?"

Viktor felt his heart flip in his chest. He knew he could ask for anything, and that thought alone was too much. He shook his head and Yuuri hummed softly. 

Yuuri said he wanted to learn how to love him... how intriguing. He chose to believe him; Viktor was not shy, did not run when things became difficult, he chased the promise of a better life for himself, for his loved ones. He always had. And after that evening... he wanted to learn to love Yuuri too. Held in his arms, Viktor felt himself float into that glittering world between sleep and wake. He blinked heavy eyelids up at him, his brown eyes closed gently, surely exhausted by the day's excitement. Viktor sank into his warmth, anxious and hopeful at the same time.

He would gladly give Yuuri the chance to fulfill his promises.

**Author's Note:**

> Spoilers:  
> Yuuri is crowned Emperor, and after being given Viktor as a gift for his coronation (a tradition which he despises) and sleeping with him, he tells Viktor that he intends to finish his father’s work and abolish slavery with Viktor as his Royal Consort. He intends to free Viktor and marry him, because he has been in love with him since the first time they met a year ago. Viktor agrees to help, and to a courtship. Yuuri promises he will grant Viktor freedom, and they fall asleep together, happy and excited for what’s to come.
> 
> thanks for reading! kudos and recs are always appreciated <3  
> ia  
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